Page 8 of The Banned Books of Berlin

Berlin, December 1930

The first Christmas without Ingrid was hard for the Amsel family, although they did their best to carry on with the usual traditions. Freya rolled dough for the cinnamon-spiced Lebkuchen , stamping them out with her mother’s star-shaped cutter and loading tray after tray into the oven. Her father said when he smelt them baking, as he did every year, ‘Surely it can’t be Christmas already? Somebody should have told me.’ Yet the biscuits weren’t as light and crisp as her mother’s, and none of them had the heart to eat more than one or two. Freya gave the rest away to their neighbours.

Ernst went to the market on Christmas Eve and came back with a small fir tree under his arm, filling the room with a painfully familiar scent of pine forests and excitement. Freya remembered the year she and Otto had got up in the dead of Christmas night, having convinced themselves it was morning, to discover a box of tin soldiers and a skipping rope under the tree in the living room. How golden the days seemed then, looking back! She and Otto had had their squabbles as children, but they’d played together for hours, building forts in their bedroom and racing each other on scooters around the park. They had been so close once; surely that bond couldn’t simply disappear? Otto never talked to her about his plans or hopes for the future these days, and she couldn’t think how to start the conversation in a way that seemed natural. As they decorated the Christmas tree with the usual candles and strands of tinsel that evening, Freya could sense her mother looking down on them. Ernst and Otto must have felt the same, but none of them could bear to mention the person on all their minds, the one whose absence had changed everything.

The only consolation, as far as Freya was concerned, was that Herr Grube was spending the holiday with his family in Bavaria. She disliked him more than ever, although he’d ingratiated himself with Ernst and Otto, and he’d certainly improved the household finances: he paid his rent promptly every month and he’d recommended her father as a decorator to several of his colleagues in the Nazi party. In fact Ernst already had jobs lined up for the first three months of the new year – and he’d be working for decent German folk, he declared with satisfaction, not flashy Jew trash. ‘He’s a solid fellow, that Walther,’ Ernst pronounced. ‘Let’s hope he stays for a while.’

Otto had taken to cycling or hiking with Herr Grube at weekends. When the pair returned from their expeditions on a Sunday evening, windblown and ruddy-cheeked, the apartment seemed too small to contain their sweaty, masculine energy. Their studded shoes clattered up the stairs as they chatted together in harsh voices, Walther apparently liberated from his shell by Otto’s company in the great outdoors. Freya resented the fact her brother preferred to spend time with their reptilian lodger rather than her, and she missed seeing Leon at her brother’s side; he was never invited along on the trips.

‘He doesn’t have a bicycle,’ Otto replied curtly when she asked why not. ‘And anyway, he couldn’t keep up. Walther sets a fast pace.’

Grube had smirked, turning away, but not before Freya noticed and disliked him more than ever.

If Herr Grube had been with them, he and Otto would probably have gone hiking or skiing on the afternoon of Christmas Day; in his absence, Freya told her brother she was planning to visit their mother’s grave and invited him along. The headstone wasn’t yet in place but she wanted to decorate the mound with ribbons and branches from the Christmas tree, so that Ingrid would be included in the festivities. Somewhat to her surprise, Otto agreed to come with her.

It was bitterly cold and fresh snow squeaked under their boots as they tramped through streets ringing with the cries of children sledging or pelting each other with snowballs. A few other people were gathered at the cemetery, tending graves or standing about, stamping their feet or rubbing their arms for warmth. Freya knelt to arrange the pine boughs around the wooden cross that marked Ingrid’s grave, feeling a little self-conscious. Otto stooped to join her, lighting a small candle in a jam jar that he’d produced from his pocket, and they exchanged rueful smiles.

‘Drink?’ he asked, passing her a hip flask, and she raised it in a toast to the mother who had brought her up with such fierce love and ambition.

‘Do you think she’d be proud of us?’ she asked, returning the flask.

Otto shrugged. ‘Well, I guess we’re managing. She’d say Vati was drinking too much but that’s always been the case. I don’t think she’d blame you for not making a success of the business.’

‘That’s good to know,’ Freya retorted, stung.

‘All the same, this job of yours …’ He hesitated.

‘What about it?’

‘Well, I’m not sure Mutti would have approved. There are a lot of sleazy types hanging around those places and you don’t want to get a bad reputation. Walther thinks a respectable girl shouldn’t be working there.’

‘Walther?’ She stared at her brother in disbelief. ‘What business is it of his?’

‘He has the right to an opinion, and you should pay attention,’ Otto said. ‘He has your best interests at heart.’

Freya swallowed her indignation and it was a few seconds before she could speak calmly. ‘I’m sorry, I know you spend a lot of time with Herr Grube, but I don’t care for him, and I don’t like to think of the two of you discussing me behind my back.’

‘That’s why I’m talking to you now, face to face,’ Otto said. ‘Freya, listen to me. Germany’s on the brink of change and it’s going to be huge. We’re in a mess at the moment, but Adolf Hitler can see the way out and guide us through it. Once we’ve got rid of all the Jews, Commies and degenerates, our country will become healthy and strong again.’

Freya scrambled to her feet. ‘You can’t really believe that man and his thugs are the answer!’

Otto stood too, his eyes bright and hard. ‘All right, some of the brownshirts take things too far, but who else has a vision for the future? That’s why people are cheering for Hitler: he’s given them something to believe in. You should hear the plans he has for building new houses, creating jobs and helping families like ours get back on their feet. He’s passionate about architecture, for one thing, which will mean plenty of work for me.’ He might as well have been reading from a propaganda leaflet.

‘Has Herr Grube been telling you all this?’ she asked.

‘I’ve been doing my own research,’ Otto replied. ‘Joined the Nazi party and gone to a few meetings.’

Freya’s heart sank further. ‘I wouldn’t trust Hitler as far as I could throw him,’ she said. ‘Have you forgotten how he tried to take over the government by force and ended up in jail?’

Eight years before, Herr Hitler had marched into a beer hall in Munich where the governor of Bavaria was making a speech and announced the ‘Berlin Jew government’ was finished and the Nazis were taking over. The putsch hadn’t succeeded but the following trial and then imprisonment of Adolf Hitler had brought his name to everyone’s attention.

‘These jobs he promises are all about preparing for another war,’ Freya went on, ‘and that’s the last thing we need.’

‘He’s impatient for change, and who can blame him? Sometimes you have to burn the old wood to make room for new growth.’ Otto took another swig from his hip flask. ‘Just think about what I’ve said, Freya, and open your eyes. Loafing about the Schoneberg district won’t do much for your prospects. And don’t dismiss Walther out of hand. He likes you, despite his reservations, and you could do a lot worse. He has excellent prospects and he gets on with Vati, which is important. The three of you could live together quite amicably once I’ve left home.’

The thought of being confined to their apartment with Walther Grube and her father was so appalling that Freya was momentarily lost for words. ‘I’m not sure I want a husband,’ she said eventually. ‘Not for years, anyway. I might prefer to study, or travel, or have a career of some sort – like Leon’s mother.’

Otto snorted. ‘A career? There aren’t enough jobs for men these days, let alone women. And what more important role could you ask for than motherhood? Mutti always said having children was the greatest joy of her life.’

Freya looked at the mound of earth shrouded in dark-green branches, the tiny candle flame at its head guttering in the wind. ‘Mutti never liked Hitler.’

Otto smiled. ‘Mutti wasn’t interested in politics.’

He was so certain, so cocksure. Freya knew their mother would have found his revolutionary zeal as troubling as she did. Herr Grube might have accelerated the process, but her brother had turned into someone she no longer recognised and didn’t particularly like. Shivering, she wrapped her coat more closely around her.

‘By the way,’ Otto added, as they turned to leave, ‘I’d keep your opinion of Herr Hitler to yourself in front of Walther. At the very least, he’d never propose if he heard you talking like that, and at worst, he might even report you to the Nazis. They could make life extremely difficult for all of us.’

A harsh wind blew through the corridors of the Zaubergarten over the course of the following year. Patrons bought fewer bottles of champagne and their tips were smaller. The stage manager was discovered to have been selling half-price tickets on the street and keeping the proceeds; Herr Schwartz reluctantly took his place, abandoning hopes of artistic direction, and the number of dancers was reduced to six. Helga’s plan to ensnare her lover had misfired: she’d become pregnant in reality, rather than myth, only to discover he had four children already and still had no intention of leaving his wife. Yet his offspring were all daughters and he wanted a son, so he was prepared to fund Helga until she’d had the baby, and even longer if it turned out to be a boy.

‘So I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance,’ she said cheerfully, eating grapes in the dressing room with her feet up on a chair, ‘and maybe I’ll keep the baby anyway, even if it is a girl. I should like to have something of my own.’

‘Look at the size of you already!’ Frau Brodsky exclaimed. ‘If you ask me, it’s twins.’

Helga only laughed and said that made the odds even better. She left soon afterwards, to be followed by Irmgard, who married a fellow teacher, and Karin, who went back to the sanatorium for a longer stay. They weren’t replaced, and in due course the piece workers who made up new costumes were dispensed with, followed soon after by the girl who took care of mending. Freya agreed to work longer hours for a raise in salary and told her father she’d no longer be able to cook the evening meal. Since he was working regularly and Herr Grube was now in residence, they could surely afford a maid – either that, or live off bread and cheese. Ernst blustered and Otto sulked, but Freya didn’t give in. The Zaubergarten had become everything to her; the less time she spent in the apartment, the better. Grube had installed a large framed photograph of Herr Hitler above the mantelpiece, and the glorious leader’s cold eyes seemed to follow her around the living room. In due course, Hedwig arrived to help with the shopping and cooking: a sullen girl with skin as pasty as uncooked dough and small, suspicious eyes. Freya was nominally her mistress, but she felt uncomfortable giving orders and they had the same uneasy relationship she’d suffered with Elisabeth.

One Friday in the spring, Otto brought Leon around for supper. He hadn’t called by for weeks, and her warm glow of happiness now made Freya realise how much she’d missed him. She usually ate her meal in the kitchen after the men had finished – Hedwig leaving after she’d prepared the meal – but that evening Leon persuaded her to sit at the dining table with them for the venison stew with red cabbage. She saw him glance at Hitler’s portrait and then at Otto, but he made no comment. He asked her what she’d been up to and she told him about life at the Zaubergarten, ignoring Herr Grube’s obvious disapproval.

‘My brother doesn’t think it’s a suitable place to work,’ she said, ‘although he’s never been there.’ She pulled a face at Otto. ‘But beggars can’t be choosers and anyway, I enjoy the work.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ Leon said. ‘We should visit one evening, Otto, to see for ourselves whether Freya is safe. And maybe you’d like to come too, Herr Grube?’

Freya could tell Leon didn’t think much of their lodger from the way he looked at him, and knew that the offer was only being made out of politeness.

‘No, thank you,’ Grube replied, with an expression of distaste. ‘I’m not in the habit of frequenting cabaret clubs.’

‘And yet you might come across people you know,’ Freya told him. ‘From the party, I mean.’ There was usually a scattering of men with swastika armbands among the audience, and lately their numbers had been increasing. Frau Brodsky regarded the Nazis with loathing but the owner, Herr Goldstein, treated them with deference, not wanting to have his windows smashed in the middle of the night.

‘That surprises me,’ Herr Grube said stiffly. He turned to Freya’s father. ‘Were you aware the place is run by Jews?’

Ernst raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘What can one do? They have business interests everywhere, and where there is dung, you will find flies buzzing around. I’ve had to work for Jews myself in the past and didn’t like it one bit, let me tell you, but needs must.’

‘Herr Goldstein is a good employer,’ Freya said, getting up to clear the plates. ‘He pays me fairly and treats me well. And Frau Brodsky is like a mother to the dancers.’

Despite her gruff exterior, all the girls knew they could come to Rosa Brodsky if they were in trouble and she would do her best to help. When Perle had gone missing for several days without warning, Rosa had searched the streets and bars for hours until she’d found her and brought her back to the Zaubergarten. Freya had even heard a rumour Frau Brodsky had taken Karin to a sympathetic doctor, following complications after a back-street abortion. She went through to the kitchen, avoiding Herr Grube’s gaze.

Shortly afterwards, Leon joined her there. Closing the door behind him, he said softly, ‘So this is the famous Grube fellow Otto’s been talking about for months. What do you think of him?’

‘He makes my flesh crawl,’ Freya whispered, ‘and he’s turning our apartment into some sort of Nazi headquarters. He salutes that picture of Adolf Hitler every morning and he wants to hang a swastika flag from the balcony.’

They laughed, though it wasn’t really funny, and Leon took a cloth to dry the dishes Freya had washed. ‘Perhaps you should move out,’ he said. ‘Can you afford a room somewhere?’

Freya paused with her hands in the water. Living on her own was a dream for the future, and it was strange to hear Leon suggesting the idea so matter-of-factly. ‘It would be a struggle,’ she said. ‘I need to save some more money first. And I worry about my father. He seems so lonely and helpless, somehow.’

Yet she wasn’t much company for Ernst, in reality, hurrying away to Schoneberg at the first opportunity and returning home as late as she could. Maybe she was simply frightened of having to manage by herself.

‘Always thinking of other people.’ Leon smiled at her. ‘What do you want for yourself?’

I want you, Freya thought, looking at his dark eyes and the curve of his mouth. I want you to put down that cloth, take me in your arms and kiss me until our lips are raw. Can’t you tell?

‘I should like to become a writer,’ she said, surprising herself. ‘The Zaubergarten is fine for the moment but I’m not staying there for ever.’

Leon nodded, as though this was a perfectly sensible proposition. ‘And are you writing now?’

She told him about her portfolio of short stories and he asked whether he might read any, making her both nervous and exhilarated. She would have to consider carefully which to choose and give them a final polish before exposing a part of herself that had always been so precious and private. Showing her work to anyone else was unimaginable but she knew Leon would give it his full attention – and perhaps he would think differently about her afterwards. His view of her might already have changed, merely for harbouring such an unexpected ambition.

‘It will be a hard life,’ Leon said. ‘And if Herr Hitler ever comes to power, harder still. There will be no place for—’

Freya shook her head briefly in warning, widening her eyes. The door had opened silently and now Walther Grube was standing behind Leon, his arms folded.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Herr Kohl,’ he said, his voice flat, ‘but Otto and I are going for a drink and wondered whether you’d like to join us. I’m sure Fr?ulein Amsel can manage the dishes by herself.’ He glanced briefly at Freya before looking away.

‘Of course.’ She took the cloth from Leon’s hands, forcing a smile. ‘You go, I’ll be fine. Enjoy yourself!’

The look on Grube’s face made her deeply uneasy, especially remembering her brother’s words in the cemetery. She might loathe their lodger but she didn’t want to provoke him into making life difficult for Leon, of all people.

Summer came, and Freya decorated her mother’s grave with linden blossom. Times were hard, despite the sunshine. People hung around street corners throughout the city, looking for work; one day she saw a young woman with a placard around her neck, announcing she would take any job going. And then in June, the government announced there was no longer enough money to pay reparations for Germany’s part in the war.

‘I told you the country’s been bled dry!’ Ernst cried, and he and Herr Grube had a long and heated conversation about the iniquities of the Treaty of Versailles.

In July, the banks suddenly closed. It seemed that anarchy might break out at any moment as desperate people beat on the doors of those imposing, uncaring buildings – for all the good that would do – demanding their money, and trading insults and blows with each other as none of the bankers was available. The Nazis strode about more importantly than ever in their swastika armbands, as though their moment had come.

‘Out of chaos will come order,’ Herr Grube told Freya with satisfaction as he prepared for a long bicycle ride, taking advantage of the indefinite bank holiday. ‘It would be as well to prepare yourself for the new regime, Fr?ulein.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Freya was taken aback: he hardly ever spoke to her directly and now he was looking her straight in the face, with an intent expression.

‘Allow me to give you some friendly advice,’ he went on, packing a haversack with hardboiled eggs and slices of ham wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘You dress modestly and without make-up, which is commendable, but I happened to see you smoking the other day, and that’s no good for your reputation.’

‘My reputation?’ She found herself echoing his words, playing for time.

‘Yes. These things are noticed and I’d be neglecting my duty if I didn’t warn you. A woman with a cigarette is a most unwholesome sight.’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Forgive my frankness. I should like to help your family through these tumultuous times in whatever way I can. There may still be a place for you in this music hall once it is Aryanised, but it would be as well to act appropriately now.’

For a second, Freya considered ignoring Otto’s advice and telling Grube exactly what she thought of the Nazi party. And yet he frightened her, with his bulging muscles and stealthy ways; she would have to come up with a strategy for opposing him subtly, rather than risking head-on confrontation.

‘Thank you, Herr Grube,’ she replied. ‘I’ll certainly think about what you’ve said.’

He nodded, apparently satisfied, swung the haversack over his shoulder and strode out of the room.

Freya sat at the table, smoking a cigarette to calm her mind. ‘Aryanised’. It was the first time she had heard the word and she wasn’t sure exactly what it meant.

All she knew for certain was that she and her family would be on different sides in the battle yet to come. She had no idea then how far that battle would divide them, or how it would end.